Jane Eyre: The New Chapters
by athenax123
Summary: This is a new Jane Eyre Fic I've been working on recently! It is dedicated to a very special person at my school who I have known for four solid years. You are such an inspiration to me! This piece was written for her to say a massive thank you for everything she had done for me. :)
1. A New Arrival

" _I thank my Maker, that in the midst of judgment he has remembered mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!" Then he stretched out his hand to be led. I took that dear hand, held it a moment to my lips, then let it pass around my shoulder: being so much lower of stature than he, I served both for his prop and guide. We entered the wood, and wended homeward._

It was surely not long now and my agony would soon end. The nurses and midwives were dashing back and forth with no real sense of proportion. Rochester was holding my hand, gripping it tightly. He served both for my prop and guide for this very moment in time. I had a pale, baby blue, maternal dress on and the midwives were fussing over me, trying to take it off. They had firmly insisted I take my dress off, although I deeply wanted to keep it on to spare any sense of embarrassment it could convey. But seemed no point to preach to the converted about matters like this, as they seemed to know what they were doing, even though they seemed quite flustered.

An excruciating pain shot straight through my body and I closed my eyes as it lanced straight through me. My Edward tightened his grip on me, as the rain sheeted down outside, thundering and screaming heavily against the thickly panelled windows made of the most fragile of glass.

"Not long now, Ma'am." said she, who was standing beside my bed with a various array of surgical equipment, all confusing and foreign to me. Science was something that clashed deeply with me and my morals, as I was a devoted Christian, but on this occasion, it could make or break me.

"Hold on now my darling Jane." whispered the voice of my dear Rochester. It was his voice that willed me on in this troubled time. He called me the apple of his eye, for I was the one through whom he saw the entire world. Never did I ever weary of gazing at breathtaking landscapes for him, describing the pure beauty of nature, every time we were outside in the scintillating glow of the sun. He cannot see very much now, but he can see the Earth for what it is; a place built for us.

"Adéle would be most overjoyed to see you back, Miss Eyre." says the calm voice of Mrs Alice Fairfax, standing near the bed, her face aged and etched with the deepest concern and sympathy.

"Thank you greatly, Ma'am." I say. I had wanted to become Adéle's mistress again, for as an inexperienced eloquent as the poor girl is, she is a truly charming and affectionate little thing and I feel that I would be doing my Redeemer's work, if I were to help her further. Sadly, I can no longer be her mistress due to my new baby, but we have agreed to become close acquaintances; or on her terms, best friends. Or to be linguistically more specific, "meilleurs amis…. "

Suddenly, my body convulsed, my whole being, physical and spiritual, shuddering uncontrollably. I let out a high pitched scream, one of complete joy combined with hours of intensive labour. Never have I ever been so exhausted or haggard-looking in my entire life. I managed to catch a glimpse of my unsightly being in the mirror, dishevelled hair and a pale, pale complexion. Nothing like the creation of God at all; much like Bertha Antoinette Mason when I saw her first, locked away in that dreary place she called home.

The nurses and midwives were partially hidden behind a translucent screen and were whispering in hushed, excited voices. Rochester suddenly let go of my hand, for what seemed to be an eternity. A few moments later, when the calm had settled over my impending storm, a pure cry of adulation emits from the depths of Rochester's lovely chest.

He walks out steadily from behind the screen, holding a bundle of blankets with the most extreme gentleness.

"Behold, my love." he whispers, tears magnificently gleaming in his black, shiny eyes, "Our son."

The mass of glorious flesh, stained with evidence from the intensive hours of labour, hiding behind a shock of striking black hair, was my son. My darling, beautiful boy bequeathed to me from God. The room seemed to light up, the iridescent glow of the lamps beaming gently on the bedside table.

He certainly has his father's eyes.


	2. Adéle's New Best Friend

_Descending from her chair, she came and placed herself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely before her, shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she commenced singing a song from some opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady, who, after bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her aid; desires her attendant to deck her in her brightest jewels and richest robes, and resolves to meet the false one that night at a ball, and prove to him by the gaiety of her demeanor how little his desertion has affected her._

I walked through the door to my grand house, holding my darling boy in my arms. His tiny, soft hand encircled tightly around one of my fingers, gripping it for an eternity. Never let go, my dear one. Rochester follows after me, closing the door on the stormy weather outside, effectively blocking it from our less than perfect world.

Suddenly, Adéle comes barrelling through the door, her arms flung open wide, proclaiming long, winding sentences in fluent French.

"Oh wow! Un garçon! Si mignon!*" she exclaims, her eyes wide and dancing, "Mademoiselle Eyre! Monsieur Rochester!"

Even after all this time, the darling child still speaks French, despite my indignant efforts to teach her as much English as possible.

"Adéle! Oui un garçon ! " I say, beaming fondly at her, "il pourrait être votre nouveau frère! **"

She squeals in delight and claps her hands together loudly.

"My…..bro…..ther…" she says, pronouncing each syllable with clear stress and enunciation, that I almost feel an urge to clap my hands and reciprocate her actions, at her slight eloquent achievement.

"He has your eyes, darling." I say, affectionately to Rochester, who is standing behind me, gazing into our little boy's face.

"He appears to." says Rochester, staring down at our son, "But I think that he has inherited your lovely smile."

"Can I sing for 'im?" enquires Adéle, looking as innocent as profoundly possible

I nod and Adéle immediately claps her hands. She shakes her long curls out of her radiant face and starts to sing. Her voice has dramatically improved since our first meeting and she dances around us, her petite dress twirling gracefully around her knees. Her lilting tones fill the room gloriously, like a trumpet song, welcoming us back into our humble home.

"Very good, Adéle." says Rochester, forcing a small smile onto his face. I do sometimes get the impression that singing annoys him greatly, for he is a great believer in silence and peace of the mind, as being the greatest music one can hear.

My little boy gurgles happily and snuggles tighter against me. Adéle peers into my arms, her face radiant.

"'E looks just like you, Monsieur Rochester!" she exclaims, in a thick, French accent, "But 'e 'as Mademoiselle Eyre's eyes!"

"Jane?" calls a voice. It's Mrs Fairfax

"Yes, Alice?" I call, "What is it?"

"It's a letter, Ma'am." she says, "From a man called John Rivers!"

I gasp. St John. The devoted follower of Christ, the man who I consider to be a very close brother. The neat, slanting handwriting on the letter brought tears to my eyes.

*oh wow! A boy! So cute!

** Adéle! Yes a boy! He could be your new brother!


	3. Pictures Tell A Thousand Words

_He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amid rocks and dangers. Firm, faithful and devoted; full of energy and zeal, and truth, he labors for his race: he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber._

I took the letter from the mantelpiece and then walked up the stairs with Rochester and my baby boy, to our bedroom.

I gasped in admiration. The staff have done a spectacular job of decorating the room. Blue satin ribbons were draped artfully around the room and near the beautiful stained glass window, sits a crib, gently rocking to and fro.

"This is absolutely wonderful!" I breathe. My little man seems to agree whole heartedly with me, as he squeals happily.

"That sound." says Rochester, a smile stretching languidly across his face, "Is better than my sound of silence."

I place my boy down in the crib and pull the soft, quilted blanket over him. I then picked up the letter from St John and slit it slowly open.

"Who is this man?" queries Rochester, rubbing his weaker hand

"A man called to do God's work." I say, in a matter of fact like tone, "I consider him a brother."

A frown marres Rochester's lovely brow and his eyes crinkle slightly.

"The man who once proposed the idea of marriage to you?" he spat, his voice dripping with hatred

"Calm yourself, darling." I whisper, taken aback by his sudden change of demeanour.

Rochester walks forward and struggles to take my hands. In a flash, my scared, weak husband who cannot see the world, except through my eyes, appears before me and stares me straight in the eyes. My heart breaks for this mighty fine specimen of man, standing before me.

He gives me a small smile and then slowly walks out of the room.

I pick up the letter and unfold it. A small card falls onto the floor and I reach down, picking it up. On it is a picture of St John, his hair falling over his dark eyes. He is standing with several children, some appearing to be severely underfed.

But the children were all smiling. They looked so happy and several had their arms around St John. I immediately realised that he was happy here and that he was doing his Redeemer's work.

I glance down at the small letter. It is all hand-written, in his neat, slanted handwriting.

 _My Dear Sister, Jane,_ ( I could almost imagine him gritting his teeth as he wrote that opening line, for I knew that he considered me more than a sister.)

 _India is an extremely breathtaking place. Never before have I seen such beauty and compassion in one country. I feel as though I have been called at length into the joy of his Lord._

 _Here, there are so many people; each one as innocent and welcoming as the last. I have ever felt more at home here, than in England._

 _Keeping you and Mr Rochester in my prayers_

 _St John_

I glance over at my little boy in the cradle. He is squirming happily in the blankets, twisting himself up in them. I walk over and gently untangle him. I lean over and show him the picture of St John.

"That's your uncle, my darling." I whisper, happily

He gurgles happily, his dark eyes alight underneath his shock of black hair.

I glance back down at the picture, realising that St John had at last found his safe haven and he could do God's work in peace.

Yes. A picture really does tell a thousand words.


End file.
